


A Direwolf and a Doe

by Minya_Mari



Series: A Game of Daemons [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Because daemons make everything better, F/M, Gendry being a little confused about his sexuality, I get it now', I really hope that this doesn't get out of hand, It probably will., Multi, and then being all 'Ooh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 06:25:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1930113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minya_Mari/pseuds/Minya_Mari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(or what if everyone in Westeros had a daemon)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Something that ought to have lain there unnoticed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/548674) by [SecondStarOnTheLeft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondStarOnTheLeft/pseuds/SecondStarOnTheLeft). 



Gendry is pretty certain the first time he sees the little slip of a thing, that both the boy and his daemon have a death wish. There's two other boys, one with a large rat for a daemon and the other a green-eyed butcher-bird, but that doesn't stop the little raggedy looking urchin from clenching his thin hands in anger at the fat one's taunting; his daemon changing quickly from a field mouse into a spotted big cat. The resulting hiss from it making both older lads laugh nervously.

He and Orla share a look, and before she can temper him against it, Gendry's stalking over to them.

Orla trots after him, her form taking that of a doe--her favourite--and as Gendry pushed in front of the littler one, she very nearly trampled the over-sized rat at the fat boy's feet.

"You like picking on the little ones, do you?" he demands, deliberately drawing himself to his full height. Gendry knows himself to be bigger than most boys his age, and these ones are no different. "When I hit that steel it sings," he stalks forward, and the two boys and their daemons shuffle backwards. "Are you gonna sing when I hit you?" Gendry demands, and the fat one shakes his head quickly, turning away and pulling his friend along with him.

The little one turns back to he and Orla, his daemon now back to the form of a sun-kissed field mouse upon his shoulder. "Thank you," he says sullenly, but there's a musical note to his voice. Gendry narrows his eyes--there's something not quite right with that, he sounds too much like a girl--but nods and turns to leave.

"W-wait! Please," the boy scurries to his side, his daemon blinking warm brown eyes up at Gendry.

"Could we walk with you?" _He_ asks, and Gendry freezes; it's rare for a daemon to speak to a person, but that's not what makes him uneasy. The boy's daemon is _male._

The boy stills as well, turns steel-grey eyes to glare at the soul on his shoulder. "Sorry Arry," the creature says, and burrows his way back down the boy's shirt.

Those grey eyes move back to Gendry, and he repeats his daemon's words. "We won't be any trouble, I swear it."

Gendry frowns, turns to Orla. She nods her delicate head, wide eyes turning to the field mouse already staring at her.

"What's your name?" Orla asks, everything she is centred on these two. Gendry watches as the field mouse switches forms to a sleek black cat, as the boy shrugs him off of his shoulders to walk on the ground.

"I'm Caedy," he supplies with an eager air, and Orla takes it in stride; never mind it's probably a lie. Gendry flicks his eyes back to the boy, only to find grey ones already staring up at him.

"My name's Arry," the boy says, hand absently playing with the sword at his hip. It's as skinny as he is, Gendry thinks. "What's yours?"

He was never all that good at taking, Orla got that gift, but he mutters, "Gendry," and the boy nods. "Where'd you get that sword?" he asks after a moment, and the boy--Arry--burrs up at the mention of the steel on his hip.

"It's mine," he snaps defensively. "It was a gift."

Gendry snorts, getting a glare from Orla, who'd turned to eye them both. "Stole it more like."

Arry glares at him, long face stern and angry. "It was a gift from my brother, stupid," he snaps, makes to say something else, but stops himself and stomps away, plucking Caedy from where he sits on Orla's back. He doesn't even seem to notice how his fingers brush Orla's hide, but Gendry does.

It's a strange feeling, but nothing how others describe it being. They say that it’s repulsive, that it feels like you've been violated.

But all Gendry feels is a strange mix of happiness and concern over the whole situation.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

They take to calling her 'Lumpyhead', and Arya's well past giving a shit. But Caed cares, and Gendry and Orla don't call her and Caed names, so more oft than not she's walking with them.

Arya thinks that Orla looks a lot like the king's daemon, but brushes the thought away when Goldcloaks come charging in, demanding for Gendry's head.

Yoren throws her the reins for one of the horses, his wolf daemon's teeth flashing as the sounds of hooves gets closer. "You take this, boy. And you run if this turns bad." He points to where the Bull stands with Orla by the stream, blue eyes wide and jaw set as he stares at the Goldcloaks. "And you take that one with you."

Arya nods, turns and almost flees past the stream, Caed an imitation of Yoren's wolf.

Not so stupid as to think that the appearance of the Queen's men means anything good, Gendry is. Arya watches as Orla stands stock still, muscles not even so much as twitching.

The goldcloaks won't say what they want him for; only that it's the Queen who wants him, her orders, and Arya peeks out from behind the brush she'd hidden herself in, the horse a little ways away.

The Bull stands a few feet to her left, and he's staring at her strangely. "What're you doin'?" he asks, but his daemon doesn't take her eyes from the men in white.

Arya feels foolish and angry all at once. Caed shifts from the lady-bug to a hawk and settles on her shoulders. "Hiding," she snaps, fingers coming up to run through Caedmon's feathers in an attempt to calm them both. "What do you think?"

It's when Yoren and his greying wolf tell the Gold Cloaks to go get fucked and some other vulgar terms, that things quickly escalate.

A goldcloak makes to draw his sword, and all the boys and men surrounding Yoren pick up weapons in threat. The horse Yoren gave her starting at the sudden movement.

Arya snorts, and Caed's claws tighten on her shoulder. _A bunch of rapers and thieves, loyal?_

But there's the taste of panic in the back of her throat, and Arya adjusts her stance so she's closer to Gendry. If he notices, he doesn't comment on it.

 

They're chased off, and the horse tied to the tree beside them was never needed.

 

.

 

.

 

Hot Pie, Arya finds, is spineless unless Lommy Greenhands is with him. That doesn't stop either one of them from taunting or pushing her to the dirt once the recruits have set up camp for the night.

It's one of these times that Caedmon finally breaks and shifts his form back to one that fits most comfortably, that feels like home, the one that feels _right._ Arya prays to any gods that will listen, and hopes that these men and boys don't know what a direwolf is.

His fangs are nearly the same length as her forearm--but Arya's tiny, she knows, so she supposes that the observation doesn’t count for much--and his shoulders are as high as hers are when she stands, and he _snarls._ He's never made that sound before, in any form.

 _But,_ she thinks to herself, _he's never had to before_.

The boys reel back, falling down to the ground, where Arya lays braced on her elbows. Yoren shouts from where he's brushing down his horse, and Caed comes back to himself, suddenly back to playing the coward, dropping to his belly. "Stop fighting now, ya hear?" Yoren orders the six of them, but doesn't take his eyes off of Caed.

And while Lommy Greenhands accidently bumps into the Bull in his haste to get away, Hot Pie is slower in making his escape, still staring blankly at Caed on the ground in shock, his daemon shaking and squeaking at him to come away.

Caed shifts quickly to a field mouse and scurries to hide in her shirt. Arya jumps to her feet, a challenging tilt to her chin as she growls, "Leave us alone."

Gendry's jaw is set as he comes over with an armful of firewood, Orla watching intently. "What happened?" he asks, and for once, Arya wants to tell him. Gendry was different from the rest, honest where the others lied through their rotting teeth.

But, it's to protect Caed and herself. She can't trust him with that, not yet. "Nothing," she mutters, and takes the sticks from his arms before she or Caed can convince her otherwise.

 

It's cold at night, and Arya often curls herself into Gendry's side, Caed a fluffy warmth at her back. Sometimes she wakes up to startling blue eyes. Other times he's still sleeping. Those times it's usually been a horrible dream that’s woken her, and then Caed, and she sits up shaking for the rest of the night, her daemon strong and steadfast and most importantly _not Dust_.

 

But today seems to be getting worse by the hour.

The goldcloaks came back, and they killed Yoren, his Ríona bursting into a brilliant cloud of golden Dust as they did. Arya had felt dread pool in her stomach, as she watched her way home die with him. The once loyal recruits dissipated like snow to the touch, and Arya barely manages to pluck Caed up and stuff him down her shirt before grabbing Gendry's arm and bolting into the underbrush.

She thinks that she should have left those horrible men in that cage, when they were burning. She and Gendry could've been further away by now if she had. But Arya had, and they had praised the gods and thanked her before turning tail and running just like the rest of them.

.

.

 

Hot Pie and Lommy find them a day later, and unfortunately, so do the Queen's men.


	3. Chapter 3

Harrenhal is cursed, she'd heard Robb say once. And, looking at it now, looming over them with an ominous feeling, Arya agrees wholeheartedly.

The stone is crumpled and perpetually black from the dragon Balerion's flames, and the men guarding it look so sullen she'd laugh if she wasn't their prisoner.

Caedmon flinches closer to her neck as she's pushed along with the rest. Gendry hasn't let go of the back of her shirt yet, and his Orla--as skinny and starved as he is--still manages to step daintily along with them.

Hot Pie's rat ( _She's a riverrat, Arry, like them ones from the Trident_ ) sits on his shoulders, shaking because Lommy's not with them anymore; and his pretty green-eyed crow is gone too, a burst of brilliant Dust in the night.

 _It was Raff who did it_ , Caed shivers, his tiny mouse claws digging against the flesh of Arya's neck. Arya nods, a strange sense of anger and detachment coming over her.

 _A spear through his throat because he couldn't walk_. Arya thinks back. Caed fidgets once more, and Arya pats him through the layers of her clothes.

He's calmer, she'd found, when he's closer to her heart.

 

They're rounded in with the other prisoners, and she recognises Gregor Clegane ordering the soldiers about. And, how could she not? The man is called the _Mountain that Rides_ for a reason. His daemon is a raggedy looking hound, half an ear missing and scars all over her face; as ugly and mean as he.

It was Gendry's fault they'd gotten caught anyway, Arya thinks to herself. Caed snorts, poking his head out from her tunic for the first time in hours.

 _Not his fault_ , her daemon insists, warm brown eyes honest as ever.

 _It is_ , she replies, steadfast in her stubbornness. _And we lost Weasel because of it_. That shuts him up.

Weasel had been annoying, for sure, but she'd only a little child, her daemon a tiny lark with a big voice.

 _Like Rickon_ , Caed thinks after a moment.

Arya nods, settles on the ground next to Gendry's massive form in the dark. _At least she got away_ , she says. _I hope she stays away_.

Hot Pie is a foot or so to her left, facing away from her, his Darla resting in the curl of his thick legs. She's boxed in by both boys, so either way she's got her back protected; Arya almost feels like hugging them both for it. But then, they'd both been doing it since she'd told Gendry who she is, and Hot Pie figured out she's a girl.

Orla is curled around Gendry's front, her nose tucked under a leg and her breathing is sleep-steady. Arya presses closer to Gendry, a hand settling on his back and her forehead resting on her fingers. Caed is quiet as he shifts to a fox and lays himself by her legs, yawning widely.

 _Sleep well_ , Caed presses against her mind, chin resting on her shoulder. It's his breathing, the warm air caressing her face, that eventually puts her to sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

She's assigned as Weese's steward, a squat man with boils near one corner of his lips and a dirty-looking magpie for a daemon.

Caed instantly dislikes both, and Arya agrees. Weese is quick to violence, she finds, after he hits her for being too slow. Caed almost, _almost,_ takes on a larger form; the need itching under Arya's skin and she sees the Dust shift before she grabs roughly onto the scruff of his neck to stop him.

Caed hadn't taken on any wolf-like shape besides that once, not since Father and Mafanwye's deaths, but oh, the urge then had chased away his good sense.

Caed doesn't so much as look at that magpie anymore.

Gendry is always at the forge now, and she hears him beating the metal as she comes down the steps of the Wailing Tower to get water, Caed riding on her shoulders as a songbird.

They know she's a girl, but not _who_ she is. No one does except for Gendry.

The sound of following footsteps make her own falter. Caed shifts to a hawk, lifting himself into the air to face the intruder.

It is one of the men she freed, Jaqen H'ghar. His daemon stalks quietly at his side, as black as midnight; and the biggest cat Arya has ever seen.

"You owe three deaths, lovely girl." He says, and the daemon at his side settles to the stone floor with a sigh.

Arya frowns. "You work for him now," she bites out scathingly, goes back to filling the pitcher.

Jaqen H'ghar does not leave, instead, he holds up three fingers. "Three lives were saved from the fire," he tells her slowly. "Three deaths must be paid."

With that said, he leaves the way he'd come, daemon silent at his side.

 

Arya sneaks Gendry pieces of bread Hot Pie cooks each time she visits the forge. She sits and watches him now, feet dangling in time with a song she hums, Caed talking with Orla just outside.

The muscles dance in his arms as he makes the metal sing, and Arya's entranced. Caed pauses in his conversation with Orla.

 _Arya?_ He asks, and she blinks, leans away from the forge to peer over at him.

"What?" she asks.

 _There are men coming through the gates_.

Gendry glances up from the sword he's holding, brow furrowed. "I've got to go now," Arya tells him quickly, offers him a smile and dashes out of the forge before anyone can see her.

 

A day later, Arya seeks out Jaqen H'ghar. He does not seem at all surprised, and his daemon stares at Caed with a blankness that makes him shiver and press himself closer to her knees.

Arya's jaw is jutted forward and her eyes are steel as she tells him, "Chiswyck."

The smile that Jaqen gives her is a lovely thing; the red-gold of his armour and the two-tone of his hair shining in the torchlight. "So it will be done."

When he'd left, Arya collapses into the stone wall at her back, and the pitcher almost spills. Caedmon catches it quickly, taking on the form of a monkey; a creature Arya'd only seen in one of the books Maester Luwin showed Bran and she, a lifetime ago.

Caed looks up at her with worry, places the pitcher on the ground and shifts to back a fox. He whines plaintively.

"Nan?" he asks, because it's still too dangerous to use their real names, and she's going by yet another one now. Arya hasn't cried since those first days travelling with Yoren and the other lot, and she fights off tears now of all times. There's no reason to be crying, but her breath hiccups in her throat all the same.

"It's okay to cry--"Caed starts, trying to comfort, because that's what daemons are for--but Arya cuts him off with a glare.

"No, it's not," she snaps. _I'm a wolf and wolves don't cry_.

Caed snorts, ears pinning themselves to his skull. But he drops the subject all the same. "Weese is going to be angry if we're late."

 _Swift as a fox, calm as still water. Fear cuts deeper than swords_ …

 

And they both run off to find him.

 

.

 

.

 

It was Tywin Lannister who came through the gates that day, his daemon a rippling lioness at his side. And Weese is especially abusive _today._

So Arya makes sure that she's quick to get the water, and even quicker to help when he asks, and she's only hit three times.

She's in the courtyard with Gendry, munching happily on a stale bit of bread. Gendry's testing the steel, swinging it to and fro as she watches. Caedmon and Orla sit side by side by Arya's legs, chatting quietly.

A startled shout comes from by the walkway, and Arya spins to see a crumpled body on the ground. Gendry stops to stare as well, stepping closer and dropping the sword on the bench Arya's seated upon.

Both she and Gendry gather along with others, Caed shifting to a song bird once again, and landing on her shoulder.

 _Arya,_ he thinks. _Look up_.

Arya does, and her eyes lock onto a sly grin and a finger over said mouth. Jaqen H'ghar stares at her and lifts two fingers.

Two more deaths, Arya thinks quickly, and glances down at the body.

It's Chiswyck.


End file.
